


no lakes can put the fire out

by callunavulgari



Series: Dark Month Collection [28]
Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Ambiguous/Open Ending, F/M, Fae & Fairies, Fear Dearg AU, Horror, Ireland, M/M, Multi, Recreational Drug Use, Small Towns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-03
Updated: 2013-10-03
Packaged: 2017-12-28 08:07:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/989722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callunavulgari/pseuds/callunavulgari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You’ve seen a Fear Dearg, haven’t you, child?” she murmurs, all soft-like, one hand on his knee. He feels jittery; too much fear constantly racing through his heart, not enough sleep. He shrugs, jerkily, and his eyes cut to the figure at the window—meets it’s bright green eyes. He nods, slowly, when she goes on to describe a figure in red who delights in terrible practical jokes, amused by the terror of a human.</p><p>“He doesn’t look like a rat, though,” he says and she chuckles at him, patting his knee.</p>
            </blockquote>





	no lakes can put the fire out

**Author's Note:**

  * For [caseyvalhalla](https://archiveofourown.org/users/caseyvalhalla/gifts).



> Dark Month 2013, Day 3. Caseyvalhalla wanted Akuroku, General Dark, fairies. Went with the Fear Dearg -or Red Man- because it was interesting. My second choice was something like a fire-breathing Jigglypuff.

Glenfarne is a small village on the edge of some lakeside forest. It’s probably quaint to Sora and the others, but to Roxas, it is terribly boring. The people are all nice enough. They wave hello, but mostly keep to themselves, not inviting them out anywhere.  
  
Sora goes hiking a few times with Kairi and Riku, but Roxas claims jetlag, and spends the day meandering around the small cottage they’re renting out for the summer, wondering what to do without cable tv.  
  
In the end, he does something that he hasn’t done since he was in high school—curls up on the old, thread-worn armchair overlooking the wide bay windows and settles in with a sketchbook. He doesn’t really think about what he draws—never does—he just lets himself go, and when he comes back to himself there may or may not be something worthwhile on the pages.  
  
This time, there are elaborate patterns and a forest setting focused on negative space; a chipped mug tipped over on a barrel; the folds of the blanket in his lap.  
  
He blinks and shrugs.  
  
He keeps drawing.  
  
.  
  
When Sora and his friends get back, Roxas has filled nine pages with random drawings.   
  
Kairi grins down at him, making polite small talk about how her sister’s in art school and that he’s _really good_.  
  
Roxas likes Kairi. He does. She’s impossibly sweet and has an adorable smile that she shares with her sister. But he’s still feeling kind of anti-social, so he makes his excuses and retires to the room that he’s supposedly sharing with Riku.  
  
(Supposedly because Riku thinks he doesn’t notice when he sneaks into Kairi and Sora’s room in the middle of the night.)  
  
.  
  
He goes for a walk the next day.   
  
The village proves to be uninteresting, so he changes direction, palming the joint in his pocket and heading towards the forest.  
  
The sun is shining, the birds are twittering happily; what could possibly go wrong on day like this?  
  
.  
  
At first, he doesn’t notice he has company. The weed that Hayner gave him before he left the states (and yeah, yeah, taking drugs to an airport wasn’t his best idea, but he didn’t get caught, so that’s what really matters) is surprisingly dank, considering the shit that Hayner usually smokes. It’s a far cry from the baggie of middies he got for his birthday the year prior, or the even shittier pot brownies Olette tried to make him the year before that.  
  
He smokes as he walks, and decides to stray away from the trails, because what fun ever came from walking the beaten path, huh? Make your own path, his mom had always told him, and even though he’s pretty sure she never meant it like this, it’s good advice anyway.  
  
He trips over tree roots and laughs at weird shapes in the sky, and remembers why he prefers smoking alone. The universe is so huge, and like this, his mind feels free to explore the nebula bright line between reality and make believe. It reminds him of blazing up in his college dorm room, spouting philosophical bullshit with Hayner and Pence until the sun started streaming through the nicotine-stained blinds.  
  
Eventually he finds the lake, and spends a couple hours on the shore, limbs akimbo, stretched on warm, plush grass. He watches a ladybug trek across a couple blades of grass, wishing he’d brought his stupid makeshift sketchbook with him.  
  
He doesn’t notice the dude standing at the treeline until he sits up sometime later to shrug his overshirt off, sweating and unbearably hot.  
  
The figure makes him jump, but he isn’t all too concerned. He’s really high, sure, but he’s never been the paranoid type and this is kind of a public place.  
  
“‘Sup, dude,” he calls, firing off a sloppy salute as he settles back down. He has to shield his eyes to see past the glare.  
  
The figure doesn’t respond, and the first frisson of unease creeps down his spine.  
  
“I can move if you want some privacy, man,” he says, propping himself back up on his elbows so he doesn’t strain his neck.   
  
It still doesn’t respond, but it does step closer, and that’s when things get weird.  
  
It—he’s—dressed all in red, from his neck to the tips of his toes, some weird robe thing that clashes with the fire engine red of his hair. The man’s face is set in an eerie grin, lips stretched wide, revealing a bright white set of teeth.  
  
“Okay, dude, I get it. I’m leaving,” he mutters, pushing himself to his feet. He sways a bit—too much time sitting in one place, too hot from the afternoon sun—and when he blinks, the man’s right in front of him, a hand around his wrist.  
  
He smells weirdly like smoke, and not the smokable kind—he smells like the aftermath of a forest fire.   
  
“Thanks,” Roxas says, still kind of uneasy, shaking his wrist free.  
  
“You’re welcome,” the man replies, voice strangely sing-song, like he’s mocking Roxas.  
  
Roxas shrugs and strides past him, the hairs prickling on the back of his neck as he passes.  
  
He fights the urge to run home, the feeling of eyes on him persisting all the way back.  
  
.  
  
“So what did you do today?” Kairi asks him, her legs kicked up over Riku’s thighs. Sora’s head is pillowed in her lap, and Roxas has no idea how the three of them are managing to fit on that couch.  
  
He shrugs.  
  
“Went on a walk. Met a weirdo.”  
  
The door shuts behind him.  
  
Riku doesn’t even bother pretending that night.  
  
.  
  
He goes back because he’s bored, and this time, he’s prepared for when the weird asshole in red shows up. He isn’t grinning this time, favoring Roxas with a perplexed look, like he’s not sure why this kid is invading his space all over again. He wonders if that was the point of yesterday, act creepy to make him clear out.   
  
Maybe Roxas was in the way of some kind of drug deal, or the guy getting laid.  
  
How he’d get laid in clothes that weird, who the fuck knows, but Roxas doesn’t really know what the village girls are into nowadays. Maybe it’s like an amish thing. Probably not. Are there even Amish people in Ireland?  
  
“What’s up, dude,” he says, settling down on the shore again, refusing to let himself be cowed.   
  
There’s silence behind him and when he turns, there’s no one there.  
  
He still doesn’t let himself shiver, mostly because he can’t shake the feeling that he’s still being watched.  
  
.  
  
That day he falls asleep to the sounds of the water slapping up against the shore, despite the lingering nervousness.  
  
He wakes up covered head to toe in honey with a shit ton of bees crawling all over him.  
  
He screams and promptly jumps into the lake.  
  
The walk back home is very uncomfortable and wet; the trees sound like they’re laughing at him.  
  
.  
  
“What happened to you?” Riku asks from the front porch. He’s either drinking tea or whiskey, eying Roxas with shock as he squelches past.  
  
“Got attacked by bees,” he hisses, and slams the front door behind him.  
  
.  
  
That night the shadows all seem to come alive, making shapes against the wall—strange sounds and glowing eyes in the dark that make him feel like a kid all over again, fear making his heart pound in his chest.  
  
He pulls the covers over his head, gritting his teeth and willing himself to sleep. The shadows are laughing at him, he thinks, and falls into an uneasy sleep.  
  
.  
  
He doesn’t go back.  
  
Unfortunately, he doesn’t have to, because now the figure in red is everywhere he looks.  
  
.  
  
“Okay, dude, you really have to stop following me,” he hisses over his shoulder one day on the way to the market place. Kairi startles next to him, giving him an odd look.  
  
“Who are you talking to, Roxas?” she asks, looking from him to the figure grinning behind them.  
  
“This asshole in red,” he growls, walking up and jabbing a finger into the dude’s chest. He kind of… sways, a little, into Roxas’ hand, a giggly noise bubbling up his throat.  
  
Kairi blinks at him, looking confused.  
  
“Roxas,” she starts softly, hands held aloft like she’s trying to placate him. “There’s no one there.”  
  
.  
  
He’s going crazy, that’s the only explanation.   
  
He still isn’t desperate enough to risk crawling into Sora’s room to sleep, but he does pull the blankets up over his head, ignoring the grinning face peering in through the window and the way the shadows dance across the floor.  
  
.  
  
Some of the locals are helpful, especially the old lady who smells like mothballs and cats that he meets at the marketplace. It’s not a very good outing, because he has a temper tantrum of epic proportions and starts throwing produce at the figment of his imagination.  
  
They kick him out, of course, but Old Lady Siobhan gets to him before that happens.  
  
She speaks to him softly, wrinkled old hand wrapped around his wrist as she drags him off to her house—grip not too tight or too loose. She lets him into her house and closes the door in the red man’s face, like she can almost see him.  
  
There’s tea, and a heavy feline named Maddie who likes to knead her claws uncomfortably against his crotch. The tea’s chamomile, and she doesn’t even say anything when his hands tremble against the cup.  
  
“You’ve seen a Fear Dearg, haven’t you, child?” she murmurs, all soft-like, one hand on his knee.  
  
He feels jittery; too much fear constantly racing through his heart, not enough sleep. He shrugs, jerkily, and his eyes cut to the figure at the window—meets it’s bright green eyes. He nods, slowly, when she goes on to describe a figure in red who delights in terrible practical jokes, amused by the terror of a human.  
  
“He doesn’t look like a rat, though,” he says and she chuckles at him, patting his knee.  
  
“They don’t always look like rats, child. Sometimes they are beautiful and sometimes they are ugly, sometimes they are tall, sometimes short. It depends on the creature, same as us humans. We don't look the same, so why should it?”  
  
She chuckles again when he just takes a sip of his tea. “They bring luck to those they approve of, you know. My father used to keep them around, because of the luck. They would frighten the daylights out of me as a child, but my Papa told me, ‘Now poppy, all you must do is tell it ‘Na dean maggadh fum’, do not mock me, and it will be forced to leave you out of it’s tricks.”  
  
“Did it work?” he asks.  
  
Maddie leaps away from him, more agile than a cat her age should really be, and curls up in a ball next to Siobhan. The old lady strokes her for a moment, gnarled purple-white hands twisting in cream fur.   
  
“It worked for me, young one. Now you must try it, and see if it works for you as well.”  
  
.  
  
He goes to the place that he first saw it, that place by the lake. It follows him there, a streak of red in his peripheral vision.   
  
“Why me?” he asks it when he turns, back to the lake.  
  
It laughs at him, and he hears it’s voice for the second time.   
  
“Why not?” it asks in return. “You were in my woods, and you looked interesting, such a shining little golden boy, mind scrambled by plants. You were fun.”  
  
He grits his teeth and says it, stumbling over the pronunciation. “Na dean maggadh fum.”  
  
It examines its nails, giving him an unimpressed look. “No fun,” it says. Then, “You know you could have said it in English, spared yourself the trouble of mangling our native tongue.”  
  
“Why won’t you just go away,” he hisses, and it raises one fine red eyebrow in his direction.  
  
“You said not to mock you. You never said anything about leaving.”  
  
.  
  
It starts knocking on his windows during rainy nights. Each time, he glares at it and tugs the curtains shut. It always returns the next night, voice like the swell of an ocean wave or the call of a wailing child.   
  
When he’s out and about, it’s taken to sidling up next to him, chattering at him until he gets frustrated and turns home.   
  
“What do you want with me?” he hisses once, when he’s perusing the shelves at the market under the watchful gaze of all the employees.  
  
It shrugs at him. “I want to be entertained. Spoilers, you’re doing a terrible job.”  
  
“Will you go away if I entertain you?”  
  
“Nope, probably not,” it says, laughing when he just growls and bags up some kind of soup.  
  
.  
  
Then one night, he lets it inside.  
  
It’s a bad night—howling winds and needle-sharp rain. He’s almost asleep when he hears the tap-tap-tap on his window, and wakes instantly, scowling at the wall.  
  
“What do you want?” he asks it, flinging open the front door.   
  
It’s soaking wet, red robe pulled tight around it’s skeleton of a body, teeth chattering. He stares at it, perplexed, and stupidly says, “I didn’t think you’d feel the rain.”   
  
It glares at him, pupils thin and slitted like a cats, and makes a sweeping gesture that might mean ‘aren’t you gonna let me in?’ It’s possible though that it just means fuck you. He shuffles backwards, pulling his blanket tighter around him as the figure wanders in past him, looking around the room with a curious eye.  
  
He stares at Sora’s bedroom door for a long moment before Roxas hisses, “Dude, you can’t try to scare them either, okay?”   
  
“Wasn’t gonna,” it says placidly, eyes still roving around the room. It lands on the fireplace and turns to him, asking, “Won’t you start a fire?”  
  
.  
  
He starts the fire. Not gracefully, because he’s never dealt with a fireplace quite so old, but he gets it done, flames crackling merrily away.  
  
The creature settles into the couch with a contented sigh, clothes squelching unfortunately. He almost asks it if it wants him to run the robe through the dryer when it shrugs the robe over it’s shoulders, tossing it to the floor. The moment it hits the ground though, it vanishes, leaving the creature in a pair of simple cloth trousers. They look old and worn.  
  
“Do you have a name?” he asks suddenly, wrenching his eyes away from the faint trail of red hair leading down the guy’s belly.  
  
It—he—looks startled, like it hadn’t expected that question. “It’s Axel,” the creature says, green eyes still wide.   
  
“Axel,” Roxas murmurs quietly, testing the way the name sits on his lips. “So does this mean you approve of me now? Or are you gonna keep trying to scare the shit out of me as some kind of weird fairy test.”  
  
Axel smiles at him, the light of the fire casting a warm glow over his face. He looks gentler, like this, sans weird cloak and soft in the light of the flames.  
  
“Guess you’ll have to find out,” he sing-songs, like he’s trying to make his voice go lilting and eerie. It just sounds like affectionate teasing to Roxas though, so he snorts, scooting a little closer. He doesn’t cuddle, never has, but the fairy he has sitting on his couch is warm, and whatever, there’s nothing wrong with siphoning a little body heat.  
  
“Right,” he snorts, when Axel’s arm wraps around his shoulders. “Pretty sure I already know the answer.”  
  



End file.
